HIS SECRET FLAME🔥

First spark in the dark 🌑🕶️

The dive bar on 7th smelled like stale beer, old wood, and secrets.

Dim red neon buzzed above the entrance, casting a bloody glow over the cracked sidewalk.

Alex parked two blocks away, hood of his black jacket pulled low, heart hammering like he was about to commit a crime.

In a way, he was.It was 9:12 p.m. when he pushed through the heavy door.

The place was half-empty on a Sunday night— a few regulars nursing whiskey at the scarred bar, a couple arguing quietly in the corner.

Low blues played from hidden speakers, slow and aching. No one looked up. Perfect.

Dami was already there, tucked into the back booth like he belonged to the shadows.

Black hoodie, dark jeans, the brim of a worn baseball cap pulled low over his eyes.

A single beer bottle sat in front of him, untouched.

When Alex slid into the seat opposite, Dami lifted his head just enough for their eyes to meet.

Hazel burned into brown, and the air between them ignited instantly.

“You came,” Dami said, voice low enough to stay between them.

“I said I would.” Alex kept his hands on the table, resisting the urge to reach across.

“We’re just talking, right?”Dami’s mouth curved into a half-smile that didn’t hide the hunger in his gaze. “That’s what I said.”

The bartender—a grizzled man with a tattooed neck—wandered over. Alex ordered a whiskey neat, same as Dami’s untouched bottle.

When the drink arrived, he took a long sip, letting the burn ground him.

It didn’t help. Every nerve felt exposed, raw, waiting for the spark.

For the first few minutes, they danced around it. Small talk. Safe territory.

“How’s the big project going?” Dami asked, fingers tracing condensation on his bottle.

“Intense. Partners loved the bold concept. Might actually get to lead it.” Alex shrugged, trying for casual. “You? Any gigs this week?”

“Thursday at The Hollow. Small crowd, but they liked the new stuff.” Dami’s eyes flicked to Alex’s mouth, then away.

“Wrote a couple lines about rain and bad decisions.”Alex’s pulse spiked.

“Dami…”

“I know.” Dami leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table.

The hood slipped back just enough to reveal the fading bruise on his lip.

“I keep telling myself to leave you alone. You’re Marcus’s brother. You’ve got your perfect life lined up. I’m a f*****g mess with a guitar and a bar tab.” Alex’s drink burned going down.

“You’re not a mess.”

“Yeah?” Dami’s voice dropped even lower. “Then why do I feel like I’m on fire every time I think about that night?”

The words landed like a match on dry tinder.

Alex’s breath caught. He glanced around—no one was paying attention.

The booth was dark, private, shielded by high wooden backs.

Under the table, Dami’s knee pressed deliberately against his.Just that small contact sent electricity racing up Alex’s thigh.

“We said it never happened,” Alex whispered.

“We lied.”

Silence stretched, thick and heavy. The blues song shifted into something slower, more sensual. Dami’s foot hooked around Alex’s ankle under the table, holding him there. Not aggressive. Just… claiming.

Alex’s whiskey glass trembled slightly as he set it down.

“This is crazy. If Marcus finds out—”

“He won’t. Not tonight.” Dami’s eyes darkened.

“Tell me you haven’t been thinking about it too. Tell me you haven’t jerked off remembering how I tasted.”

Heat flooded Alex’s face. He couldn’t lie. Not here. Not with Dami looking at him like he was the only thing keeping him breathing.

“Every night,” he admitted, voice barely audible. “I try to stop. I can’t.”

Dami exhaled sharply, like the confession had punched the air from his lungs. “f**k, Alex.”

One of them moved—Alex wasn’t sure who. Their hands met under the table, fingers intertwining for a brief, desperate second before letting go.

The touch was too much and not enough.“Outside,” Dami said suddenly, standing. “Now.”